


in the name of science

by anarchetypal



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: M/M, Nonspecific Supernatural AU, Tentacles, Voyeurism, consensual tentacle sex for educational purposes (is what trevor tells himself)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-13
Updated: 2018-01-13
Packaged: 2019-03-04 10:22:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13362612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anarchetypal/pseuds/anarchetypal
Summary: “Trevor?”He’s not sure how he’d forgotten Ryan was there on the comm, still listening. What are the chances that Ryan hasn’t heard the desperate noises he’s been making?“You sound, uh. Is everything okay?”Death. Death should come now.“Do I sound like I’m inpainto you, Ryan?” Trevor grates out, kicking out slightly when he feels something tugging at his pant leg.“Well, uh, no. Not exactly. It’s more like—”“I know what you think it sounds like!” Trevor says, a little shrill.





	in the name of science

**Author's Note:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Trevor really needs to stop volunteering for this supernatural shit. After nearly getting eaten last week—and not in the fun way—he should know better.

( _It'll be fine,_ Ryan had said. _It's harmless. Mostly harmless. You'll be fine._ Afterwards, Ryan had interrupted Trevor's yelling to point out that, hey, he _was_ fine. Totally and completely _not_ eaten alive. What more did he want?)

So, okay, he _does_ know better. And yet here he is, walking into the den of a creature they don't even have a name for yet. Maybe he's gullible, or his sense of self-preservation is totally fucked—possibly literally, if Ryan's notes about the thing are any indication.

(“If I get fucked to death, I'm coming back to haunt your ass,” he tells Ryan before heading into the cavern.

Ryan doesn't look up from his work. “Duly noted.”)

Still, at the end of the day, Ryan and the others want to know how the creature responds to humans when it’s in an “excited state,” whatever the fuck that means. This is _educational_.

Trevor keeps telling himself that as he delves further into the cave, his way lit by the flashlight gripped tightly in his hand. He’s grateful for the tiny communication device in his ear, the only thing connecting him back to base. They’d tried to get some kind of video recording set up as well, but everything they tried to film showed up as salt-and-pepper static on screen. Ryan had been fascinated.

Trevor’s just annoyed.

He sees a faint glow far ahead of him, knows it’s the creature based on Ryan’s notes, some bioluminescent secretion that comes from blah blah blah, Trevor had stopped paying attention at that point. He’s an engineer, not a biologist.

Which, to be honest, begs the question: _Why the fuck is he the one doing this?_

And, okay, Trevor knows why. It’s because Ryan’s in charge of taking observational notes for the case, and Jack and Jeremy are working a different case on the East coast, and Gavin’s in England doing who the hell knows what with Dan, and Geoff had laughed incredulously and declared himself “too old for this shit,” and Michael had seemed a little _too_ eager, and—

Well, the options had narrowed down a lot, and Trevor was elbow-deep in a repair when he’d been asked and subsequently muttered, “Yeah, sure,” without really processing, and now here he is.

Sometimes he really regrets joining the Hunters.

Sometimes, meaning like _right now_ , as he enters the main cave and stares up at the creature he’s only heard about until now. It’s...okay, it’s pretty horrifying, if he’s honest.

“Jesus Christ,” he blurts.

“Do you see it?” comes Ryan’s voice in his ear. He sounds way too excited. “What does it look like?”

“It looks like a huge fucking—” Trevor pauses. “Can this thing understand English?”

“I’ve looked at notes from other cases similar to this one, and results were...mostly inconclusive.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning don’t say anything stupid, just in case.”

“Right. I was gonna say, it’s beautiful. Gorgeous. Should be on America’s Next Top Model.”

He’s rewarded with a breathy chuckle, but Trevor’s too busy looking at the monster to really acknowledge it.

It’s huge, is really his first observation, a central mass that’s far bigger than he is, with countless appendages branching off from it, all shapes and sizes. It’s lit up faintly by the bioluminescent slick covering most of the... _tentacles_ , okay, they’re tentacles, it’s a huge tentacle monster, that’s all there is to it, and Trevor had _known_ that walking into this but it’s no less alarming.

The thing doesn’t appear to have eyes, but surely it can sense him. Still, it’s not attacking. That’s reassuring.

“Talk to me,” Ryan says.

Trevor snorts. “Um, it’s...big? Writhing around but not coming near me.”

“Get closer to it.”

“Wow, see, that is literally the _last_ thing I would ever want to do right now. Can’t we just stare at each other awkwardly from a distance?”

“It has eyes?”

Trevor scrunches his nose. “No, not that I can tell, but… I dunno, it feels like it’s watching me.”

“Neat,” Ryan says, enthusiastic.

“You and I have very different ideas about how something can be classified as _neat_.”

“Trevor.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m going,” Trevor grouses. He takes a deep breath and turns off his flashlight, tucking it into the side pocket of the little backpack he’d brought along. It’s a bit darker without it, but the light coming from the creature is enough to see by, like it’s late dusk and he just has to let his eyes adjust.

He walks forward, step by slow step until he’s too apprehensive to get any closer. By then, the monster has gone mostly still, like it’s regarding him carefully.

Somehow, that’s creepier than when it was writhing around.

“I’m within...fuck, like fifteen feet of it,” Trevor says quietly.

“What’s it doing?” Ryan asks, hushed suddenly.

“Just...looking at me? I mean, it doesn’t have eyes, so I don’t know how else to— Oh, fuck.”

“What?” Ryan says, but Trevor can’t bring himself to respond.

One lone tentacle slowly moves forward, closing the distance between them, and wiggles in front of his face like it’s trying to decide how to continue. Trevor forces himself to remain still.

The tentacle waves in front of him and then seems to caress his face, a slick, slow, muscled slide against his cheek. Trevor jerks back in surprise and backpedals, only to be tripped up by another tentacle, huge and thicker around than his thigh, that knocks him off his feet.

He flinches in preparation of hitting the floor, but a few more tentacles catch him with alarming quickness, wrapping around his midsection and his limbs.

“Shit!”

“Trevor?” For once, Ryan sounds concerned. “Are you okay? What’s happening?”

Trevor struggles to find his voice. “It’s— _Touching me_ —”

Some appendage he can’t see tears his backpack from him and tosses it aside. A terrified, choked sound bubbles up in his throat, and he struggles automatically. In response, it seems, he’s wrenched upwards, suspended in midair with tentacles wrapped around him, and he writhes instinctively, desperately. It doesn’t seem to accomplish much, but he can’t help himself.

“Ryan—!”

“ _Breathe_ ,” comes Ryan’s low voice, calm, steady.

The tentacles keep him there for a time, stilling almost in response to his panic, like the creature can sense it. Eventually, he manages to breathe slowly, an in-and-out rhythm that seems to help to calm himself, remind himself that he’s there willingly—he knows he’s not in any real danger, despite how foreign everything is. From the information they’ve gathered, the creature has never killed a human. The tentacles are holding him securely, but not squeezing, not moving more than the gentle pulsing they seem to be doing at all times. It’s a weird sensation, but not alarming.

He takes this moment of respite to do his best to describe to Ryan what he’s experiencing: the apparent strength of the creature (strong, if the way it can hold him still and off the ground is any indication), the way the tentacles feel on his skin (most of them are thick, a bit of give to them, and they’re slick, leaving a faint, bright trail of their secretions along his skin and clothes), the way it’s reacting to him (curiously, it seems, or at least not with hostility).

Then, all at once, the creature really comes to life.

The ends of the tentacles glide along his body like they’re exploring it, and Trevor twitches, squirms, equal parts ticklish and surprised. A couple delve under his shirt at the neck and sleeves, then seem to give up at the confining space. For a moment, Trevor relaxes, but then a particularly thick tentacle slides underneath the hem of his shirt only to tear the garment up the middle and rip it from his body.

Trevor yelps, struggling automatically.

“Trevor?” Ryan calls out, sounding worried. “Do you need me to send someone to get you out of there?”

“ _Nope!_ ” The word comes out on a near-hysterical burst of laughter. The thought of someone seeing him like this is— No. Not happening. Death would be kinder. “No, no, I’m fine, it’s not hurting me.”

“What _is_ it doing?”

Well, what the hell can Trevor say to that? _Caressing my naked chest with its creepy, glowing tentacles, nbd, average Tuesday night for me_. “You know what, don’t worry about it.”

One tentacle goes travelling up from his bellybutton to one of his nipples, and he jolts, back arching involuntarily. For a moment, the tentacle goes still, then flicks against his nipple again like it’s curious, like this is an experiment for the creature as much as it’s an experiment for Trevor and the others.

There’s a certain amount of intelligence to this thing that Ryan’s probably going to find fascinating but Trevor’s just finding deeply uncomfortable in the moment, especially since it _won’t stop fucking touching him_.

For a minute or two, the tentacles seem content only to hold him still and play with his chest, thinner appendages coming from who the hell knows where to flick and tug and pinch at his nipples. Trevor does his best not to react, to clench his jaw and hold still, but it only seems to make the creature more determined. Despite his best efforts, it’s not long before he’s writhing, breaths coming in short and hitched as he forces himself to stifle the little noises threatening to leave him and, well, he’s always known he’s had sensitive nipples; that’s often a fun, useful thing in bed, but right now Trevor’s bemoaning it.

Literally.

One thicker tentacle wraps around his chest over his nipples and pulses strongly, the sensation almost like a rhythmic sucking, and a choked moan breaks free from his throat. He arches, hips rocking, very painfully aware that his cock is stirring in his jeans.

“Trevor?”

He’s not sure how he’d forgotten Ryan was there on the comm, still listening. What are the chances that Ryan hasn’t heard the desperate noises he’s been making?

“You sound, uh. Is everything okay?”

Death. Death should come now.

“Do I sound like I’m in _pain_ to you, Ryan?” Trevor grates out, kicking out slightly when he feels something tugging at his pant leg.

“Well, uh, no. Not exactly. It’s more like—”

“I know what you think it sounds like!” Trevor says, a little shrill.

“Right.” Ryan coughs. When he speaks again, he sounds a little more professional. “Can you give me a rundown on its reactions, its mannerisms?”

“I’m not _narrating_ this!”

“We _really_ need to figure out a way to get a video feed to work down there,” Ryan says thoughtfully.

“No, we don’t!” A tentacle delves underneath the hem of his right pant leg and starts winding its way up at the same time another works its way past his waistband. “ _Fuck_. Yeah, no, we really don’t, definitely unnecessary, god _damn_ it.”

“What’s it doing?” Even now, Ryan can’t seem to hide his curiosity and excitement.

“Stop talking,” Trevor pleads. “Seriously, I don’t need you and your— _science boner_ right now.”

“Science boner,” Ryan echoes.

“Shut up.”

“It’s just, it’s interesting how the only word you could come up with is ‘boner,’ considering—”

“How much do I have to pay you to stop talking.” He breaks off when he hears an ominous ripping sound, and looks down in despair. “Oh, come on!”

“What?”

“It tore my fucking pants! I paid like eighty dollars for these jeans.”

“Who the hell pays eighty dollars for jeans?”

“Bold words coming from Dad Jeans McMike.”

“They’re not _dad jeans_ ,” Ryan argues, sounding petulant.

“Whatever happened to those jeans Gavin made you buy?” It’s really, really weird to be having a totally normal conversation in these circumstances, but Trevor will take any kind of distraction he can get.

“They’re uncomfortable,” Ryan mutters. “I don’t like them.”

“You just have to get used to them,” Trevor reasons. “Seriously, it’ll be worth it; they make your ass look great.”

“ _What?”_

Fortunately—or unfortunately—Trevor is spared from having to come up with an explanation for that, thoughts derailed when a slick tentacle of mid-thickness finds its way into his boxers and slides against his dick.

He jerks, a strangled gasp escaping him.

“Trevor?”

“If you’re about to ask me to explain in detail what’s happening, I’m gonna take a rock from this cave and use it to smash every single one of your computers.”

Ryan pauses. “Actually, now that you mention it, bringing a sample back—”

“Shut _up_ ,” Trevor snaps, but the heat of his words is lost when the tentacle wraps rather decisively around his cock. He swears, pulling futilely against the ones holding his arms still. He’s even more aware of the pulsing action of the tentacles like this, definitely a foreign sensation around his dick, but it’s not—it’s not _bad_ , is the thing.

Ryan sounds mildly petulant. “Well, I expect a report, then, at least, when you’re—uh, finished?” Trevor lets out another moan and Ryan quiets himself almost abruptly.

Results of the creature understanding English still seem to be inconclusive, because when Trevor firmly tells the thing not to rip his boxers, it seems to pause for a moment, then tear them from waistband to hem in one sharp pull, which means it either doesn’t understand a word Trevor’s saying or it’s an ornery fucking asshole.

At that point, well, Trevor’s not going to be standing—or suspended—there totally naked with his too-trendy-for-this-situation sneakers still on (he’s in the clutches of a supernatural creature that seems hellbent on getting him off, sure, but Trevor’s got _standards_ ), so he kicks off his shoes all on his own.

With better access to him, the tentacle at his waist takes the opportunity to further its exploration, which comes in the form of stroking and pulsing and writhing around his cock with differing patterns until—until, _god_ , Trevor’s completely hard and flushed clear down to his shoulders and gasping for breath, struggling as much as he can against the tentacles holding him.

Except now it’s not with the instinct to get away—it’s with the pure, desperate desire to end the torture and get a hand around himself so he can _come_.

Maybe the creature can sense his need, or maybe it’s just coincidence, but either way the tentacle around his cock starts working at him in earnest, each movement sending little choked moans tumbling from his mouth, like it’s finally figured out exactly what gets him going and now it’s using that knowledge to execute the best kind of torture upon him.

He’s right on the edge but can’t quite get there, and he can feel hot, frustrated tears threatening to fall from his eyes.

“Oh, fuck— _fuck_ , fuck, _please_ —” He breaks off with a gasp, shivering, and lets his head fall back, resigning himself to what’s happening—to the fact that he’s at the complete mercy of this creature.

“ _Trevor_ ,” says Ryan again, except this time it sounds less like a concerned question and more like a reverent sigh.

And Trevor—god, he should be mortified, should be begging Ryan to turn off the communication signal and leave him to this humiliation, but somehow Ryan’s voice just serves to finally, finally push him over the edge.

He comes over his stomach with a sharp, shaky cry that verges on a sob, his back arching as his hips jerk forward. The climax is wrung out of him, the tentacle not stopping for a second as it milks him dry. Eventually, he’s writhing for a different reason, eyes screwed shut, overstimulated and struggling against the appendages holding him.

It doesn’t let up for a few moments, seconds that stretch thin and near-painful. When it does, the tentacle around his cock pulling away, he goes limp in the monster’s hold, letting the tentacles take his weight. Moaning faintly, his eyes flutter open.

For a time, he’s only aware of his own panting breaths, and the ringing in his ears, and the gentle pulsing of the tentacles still touching his skin.

For a time, he doesn’t quite recognize what the faint, short, staticy noises coming from his earpiece are.

Then his eyes widen.

“Ryan?” he says tentatively, because it—

It definitely sounds like Ryan’s getting off.

The noises stop abruptly.

“Shit,” Ryan breathes, voice embarrassed and tight and guilty, like he’s a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “ _Shit_ , I’m sorry, I wasn’t—”

Trevor has to scramble (metaphorically, of course, because fuck knows the tentacles haven’t let go of him yet, and that’s a little concerning, a little thrilling) to calm him down.

“Whoa, hey, relax, it’s fine.”

“It’s _fine?”_ Ryan repeats, the response punctuated with a hysterical little laugh. “It’s— It’s a Human Resources sexual harassment lawsuit, is what it is—”

“We don’t _have_ a Human Resources department, Ryan—”

“Either way—”

“I’m telling you it’s okay,” Trevor snaps, a little exasperated. “What, do you need me to say in detail that I’m okay with you jerking off to me getting fucked by a weird tentacle creature? Because I—” He cuts himself off when the poorly-muffled sound of Ryan moaning reaches his ears. “Oh.”

“ _Shut up,”_ Ryan says, and for once it’s _Ryan_ who’s embarrassed and not the other way around, isn’t that nice.

And, honestly, Trevor has a lot to say about that, but the second he opens his mouth, the words he’d planned to say come out as a half-yelp, half garbled noise, because one tentacle pushes between his parted lips and two others wrench his thighs apart, exposing him completely.

He hears Ryan’s concerned question only vaguely, too preoccupied with not choking on the appendage in his mouth, but that’s not enough to distract him from the thinner tentacle winding up between his legs and ignoring his dick entirely in favor of sliding back to brush against his hole.

Trevor jerks, stiffens, and the monster seems to respond in kind; it shivers and then stills, holding him and drawing out the tentacle in his mouth but not acting any further.

“ _Fuck,”_ he manages, struggling to catch his breath.

“Are you okay?” comes Ryan’s voice, like he’s been saying it a few times. Trevor sucks in a slow, deep breath and shuts his eyes.

And he nods.

“Yeah,” he mumbles. “Yeah, I’m okay, I just—needed a second.”

And like that, the creature comes alive again. The tentacle prods at his mouth again and he allows it in, allows it to thrust shallowly in as he squirms, another making its way down from his shoulders to his lower back.

He knows what’s coming, but it doesn’t stop him from jolting when the thin tentacle starts to enter him. Trevor’s been fucked before, has experimented with all manner of toys, but this is—god, it’s something totally new, something that gives a little to his tight walls but doesn’t hesitate to push as soon as he’s adjusted.

So it’s careful, more of a gentle exploration than a rough intrusion, but the moment it seems to sense that he’s getting used to it, the tentacle twists inside him and forces a desperate cry out of him before starting to thrust, relentless and so deep it makes him twitch.

He doesn’t even realize he’s making gasping, desperate, punched-out noises until Ryan murmurs his name.

And the thing is— Ryan sounds _wrecked_ , breath coming in short and strained. Trevor opens his mouth to say _it’s fine, I’m fine,_ but what ends up coming out is a broken moan accompanied by a full-bodied shudder.

He goes lax, gives into the hold the creature has on him, and if he were a person more inclined towards a sense of self-preservation, maybe he’d be afraid.

As it is, he just rocks back against the appendage thrusting into him, his cock beginning to harden again despite all odds.

“ _Trevor,”_ comes Ryan’s voice again in his ear, but this time he sounds worried.

Trevor sucks in a shaky breath and makes a point to actually respond, the tentacle in his mouth pulling away to allow him to do so (and so maybe it is more sentient than they’d thought?).

“I’m okay,” he gasps out, arching sharply when the tentacle inside him drags over his prostate. “It’s not—hurting me—”

“It’s getting you off again,” Ryan breathes out, quiet and awed, and even with the overstimulation and chaos Trevor can think enough to hope Ryan’s got a hand around his cock.

And, Christ, speaking of which—a tentacle about the same size as the one inside him wraps around his dick and starts to work him over again. He cries out, jolting, the sensation just at the confusing edge of too much

“Tell me if you need a rescue team,” Ryan says, but again the words seem to be coming out breathless.

Trevor lets out a hysterical laugh. “I _don’t_ ,” he manages between desperate little choked sounds. “I just— Fuck, just—tell me what you’re doing. Tell me you’re not just sitting there and taking fucking—fucking _notes_ about this.”

Ryan laughs. It’s a sweet noise, despite everything. “I,” he starts. Pauses. Trevor can hear the wet click of his throat as he swallows, tries to focus on that instead of how hard his dick is or how close he is to coming again or the rough, rhythmic thrusts the creature is keeping up.

Ryan inhales shakily.

“I’m. I’ve got my fly open, and I— _God._ I’m getting off, Trevor, Jesus, is that what you want to hear?”

Trevor laughs again, gasping and so, so close. “Yeah,” he says, eyes fluttering shut. “Kinda.” Every thrust into him makes him jolt, and he feels so _full_ , it’s almost unbearable.

Ryan lets out this long, shuddery sigh. “I’m getting off,” he repeats, “and I’m—gonna come,” and _that_ comes out on a desperate little whine.

And, “Yeah,” Trevor gasps out again, and his body’s tense and arched, every muscle tight. “Fuck, me too, me too, me—”

And he does.

He comes with his eyes screwed shut so tight he sees stars, hips jerking, any semblance of coherent speech leaving him entirely in favor of desperate, sobbing little cries. It’s _so good_.

It lasts too long, or not nearly long enough, but either way he goes totally limp, only vaguely aware of the tentacle inside him carefully sliding out, and the others slowly lowering him down. His ears are ringing, and when the high-pitched whine fades out, he hears Ryan gasping for breath, like—

Like he just came, too.

Trevor fully comes to on the cold rock floor of the cave. It’s not the greatest post-coital awakening he’s experienced, but he’s content regardless, the cool of the granite calming the heat of his skin.

Groaning quietly, he rubs his eyes, then stares up at the bioluminescent ceiling above him, shining like it’s full of stars.

“Fuck,” he mumbles, sitting up. He winces, sore, sweat and fucking— _monster slick_ cooling on his skin.

“Trevor?”

“If you ask me if I’m alright,” Trevor says, struggling to his feet, “I’m gonna break your kneecaps and then stand there while you roll around in pain and ask _you_ if you’re okay.”

There’s a pause, and then Ryan says, “Okay, but—”

“I’m _fine_ ,” Trevor says, exasperated. The creature appears to have reverted back to its docile state—whatever the hell that means. “I’m fine, but I’m _leaving_.” He doesn’t have it in him to stick around long enough to find out what, if anything, happens next.

“Wait,” Ryan says.

Trevor huffs, slowly gathering what remains of his clothing from the cave, trying not to get too close to the still, glowing mass of the creature lest he agitate it. “What?”

“Samples,” Ryan says promptly, like he didn’t just come to the sounds and mental images of Trevor getting fucked mere minutes ago. Professional as always. Asshole. Trevor’s definitely gonna ask him out for coffee when he gets back, but still. Asshole.

Trevor looks down at himself, arms full of clothing dirty from laying on the cave floor, skin sticky with unknown fluids from the creature, and—

“You know,” he says, “I think I’ve got more than enough for you already.”

 


End file.
